


Tiercel

by sylvermyth



Category: Call Down The Hawk - Fandom, Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Riding, seriously Ronan dreamt Adam a motorcycle for a reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvermyth/pseuds/sylvermyth
Summary: “Lynch.”“Parrish.”  Ronan didn’t look up from tracing the lines of Adam’s beautiful hand, God, who’d decided that a boy could have such amazing hands?“I still need to take off your clothes.”
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 14
Kudos: 369





	Tiercel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caseyvalhalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseyvalhalla/gifts).



> No major spoilers for CDTH. I saw the line, "I need to take your clothes off," and just needed to fill in that gap (since Maggie did not, sadface). I saw another one but it didn't quite sate the need...and I also really wanted to portray a bit of their friends-to-lovers background in their relationship. My first public foray into this fandom, let me know if you enjoyed it!
> 
> For my amazing friend and beta, caseyvalhalla, for all that they do to keep me motivated and cheering me on through both my writing exploits and my school struggles. I love you forever and I'm so glad that you're my friend!!!

tier·cel

/ˈtirsəl/

_noun  
_

  1. the male of a hawk, especially a peregrine or a goshawk.



Ten minutes.

Ten minutes was a long time to see someone you loved be perfectly still. Ronan thought he’d gotten used to it over the summer, and maybe he had, but he still couldn’t shake the wheezing scream in Adam’s throat. He probably never would, really—it was etched into the walls of the house, and he wondered, detached, if dreamed things held memories differently from real things. _Dreamed things are real because you make them real,_ Bryde’s voice reminded him. And of course they would; Ronan knew it intrinsically.

But he didn’t care about memories right now. He cared about Adam, still cooler to the touch than he should be, huddled in his leather jacket once more as they picked at the food Ronan had scrounged up for them. He didn’t bother apologizing about the shitty microwave dinners, because Adam would give him a _look_ and a _huff_ and he’d probably say something like, _Of course I didn’t expect a gourmet meal, this was a surprise visit._ Maybe they’d fight about it, a stupid petty argument, and maybe Adam would chastise him for not eating properly to begin with in that particular way that didn’t feel like a lecture coming from him the way it would from Declan or Gansey. Or maybe it would, but Ronan didn’t want to fight right now, anyway. Not when he only had Adam for precious hours. Less than three, now.

“Wood in the gas tank?” Ronan said, apropos of nothing. Trying to take his mind off of all of the shitty things. Trying to take Adam’s mind off of _It_.

It worked: Adam’s mouth turned up at the corners, wry, his eyes brightening slightly. “It’s not like I was surprised. Blue would be proud of you for not wasting natural resources.”

“It wasn’t exactly a priority,” Ronan drawled. He mentally pictured it again, Adam straddling the seat—wider than his old bicycle—and his beautiful hands on the grips, his hair mussed when he pulled off his helmet. The leather jacket he was wearing now, a bit roomy in the shoulders but still hugging his wiry frame attractively. The image was a distraction from everything else, and he welcomed it, welcomed the heat that accompanied it and pooled in his stomach and made him forget about the shitty microwave dinner in front of him.

Adam’s fork only paused a moment, but he kept eating in that fastidious way of his, eyes shining even brighter. He finished chewing before he murmured, “I know.” There was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and Ronan bared his teeth in a grin, pushing his own food away.

“Yeah?”

Adam kicked at his feet, mirthful, and when he said, “I know you, Ronan,” it sounded only a little different than it had over the phone, and when he’d first arrived. No judgement, still, but colored with humor in a way that Ronan missed so much it ached. Things had been shit since he’d fucked up Cambridge and visiting Adam, and sometimes he wondered if it would always be awful. This reminder was good. It was something he hadn’t even realized he’d needed.

Ronan watched Adam as he finished eating, knowing his eyes and the set of his mouth said _hurry up, then_. Their feet were still nudged together under the table, which was the only thing keeping Ronan rooted to the spot, rather than standing to pace, or doing something rather more extreme. Adam quirked an eyebrow when Ronan took his free hand, practically starving for more, and that was apparently enough to make Adam shove his food aside, too—or he’d finished. Ronan had stopped paying attention to that, preoccupied with lacing his fingers with Adam’s, trailing fingertips against skin.

“Lynch.”

“Parrish.” Ronan didn’t look up from tracing the lines of Adam’s beautiful hand, God, who’d decided that a boy could have such amazing hands?

“I still need to take off your clothes.”

That was enough to make Ronan’s gaze snap up. Adam’s eyes were dark and unguarded, raw desire that had been held at bay surging up once Adam let his iron control slip, and Ronan felt a rush of answering heat. Ronan shoved his chair back with a noisy scrape, hand still twined with Adam’s—not the brightest idea because a second later the tether made him stumble and knock his knees against the table legs. He bit out a curse, as much because of the sharp pain as it was because it meant Adam’s hand slipped out of his. Adam laughed at his clumsiness, and Ronan grit out, “Fuck you, Parrish,” which only made Adam laugh more. Which, really, made it all worth it, anyway.

“Maybe.” Adam caught Ronan’s hand again and tugged him into a biting kiss, teeth and lips and tongue that made Ronan shiver and groan as he returned it in kind, full of desperation and impatience. It was a kiss that Ronan wanted seared into his memory, one to hold onto after Adam left again, one that said better than any words how much they both hated being apart. They could call and Skype and dream, but it would never be like _this_.

It didn’t take long for Adam’s hands to find their way under the hem of Ronan’s shirt, calloused fingers splaying over bare skin, and Ronan wanted to simply toss the shirt away, to just feel Adam’s hands against his skin forever, but Adam pushed Ronan’s hands away with a breathless, “Let me,” and Ronan had no argument for that. Instead, he pushed the leather jacket off of Adam’s shoulders, leaning in to breathe in the scent of leather and skin and sweat. Gasoline and grease, too, even though the bike didn’t take fuel, and maybe that was a dream-smell, because it was a smell Ronan associated to Adam and Adam on a motorcycle. He pressed a kiss against Adam’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt, noting that his skin was feverish-hot now, and not death-cold. _Good_. Ronan punctuated the thought with a drag of teeth that made Adam’s breath hiss out, his fingers dig into his skin, and that was good, too.

Ronan started to protest when Adam took his hands away without even peeling off Ronan’s shirt, but it was only to shrug the jacket the rest of the way off—a shame, really—and then he was sliding his hands back over Ronan’s skin, inching the hem up. Their lips crashed together again, fervent and messy, uncoordinated because Adam was teasing Ronan’s shirt up in increments and Ronan tugged impatiently at Adam’s.

Ronan broke off with a hissed, “ _Fuck_ ,” because they were still in the kitchen and still both wearing entirely too many clothes. He was already hard in his jeans, aching for friction and _more more more_. He caught the fabric of Adam’s shirt and tugged him towards the other room, towards the couch where they could— _fuck, yes,_ there was still a bottle of lube in the end table drawer, and that was, _God_ —yes yes _yes_. “I want—“ Ronan dove in for another kiss and they both stumbled a little navigating the short distance, tangled up as they were. “I want you to ride me like your goddamn bike.” Ronan dropped onto the couch, dragging Adam down with him so that they sat face to face, Adam’s legs straddled wide over Ronan’s, and it was probably the best idea that Ronan had ever had, judging from the way Adam’s eyes darkened even more.

Adam had clearly been teasing before, because now his fingers scrabbled at Ronan’s shirt, practically tearing it off. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Adam muttered, his vowels long with an unchecked Henrietta accent.

“I fucking hope not.” Ronan turned his attention to divesting Adam of his t-shirt, taking care not to let it catch on the fresh bandages—he didn’t let his mind linger on that—so he could drag Adam closer and have skin on skin, let his hands map the wiry muscle that was already starting to fill out. He dropped his mouth to trace the jut of a collarbone, teased a circle around Adam’s nipple with a finger just to hear his breath catch. “I hope that was a yes.” Ronan drew back to catch Adam’s gaze, though, just to make sure. “It’s okay if—“

Adam slapped a hand over Ronan’s mouth. “Shut up, Lynch.” He shifted above Ronan, grinding down, a hard friction that made Ronan curse (not that it took much on any occasion, anyway) and grab Adam’s hips. “You’re still wearing clothes,” Adam pointed out. So was Adam, for that matter, and they fumbled and squirmed on the couch for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute, undoing buttons and zippers and tugging at denim.

And then Adam was poised over Ronan, an expanse of tanned muscles contrasting with Ronan’s pale skin, warm everywhere they touched—Adam’s thighs over Ronan’s, his hands against Ronan’s chest, but most notably the hard, hot length of his cock, arched up toward his belly, the tip already shiny with precome, nudging against Ronan’s own cock. It made him groan, his fingers digging into Adam’s back with bruising force, because he wanted to be inside Adam _yesterday_.

After a moment, Ronan uncurled enough to fumble blindly through the end table drawer for the lube. The first object he brought up was _not_ lube, but a tube of toothpaste, and he chucked it away with a curse. Adam laughed above him, because of course he would, but it was a joyful sound and Ronan couldn’t find it in himself to care, except that it made him hide a smile against Adam’s chest.

“Laugh it up, asshole.” He turned his face and scraped teeth over Adam’s nipple, grinning at the shudder it caused, and then let out a sound of triumph when his hand closed around the lube.

Anticipation always stretched time strangely, magical even as it was mundane, and this time was no different. Ronan’s attention shifted entirely to Adam, his own aching cock forgotten as he focused on taking Adam apart with his hands and mouth, tracing unseen patterns on his skin while he uncapped the lube and coated his fingers. Adam’s ass cheeks fit neatly in his hands, and Ronan cupped one with his lube-slick hand and squeezed, fingers teasing in toward his hole, as much to taunt as to give Adam plenty of time to change his mind. It wasn’t that they hadn’t done this before—but it _had_ been a while. Too long, as far as Ronan was concerned—

“Jesus, Ronan, just—“. Ronan’s train of thought came to a thunderous stop as Adam shifted his weight and brought a hand back to cover Ronan’s own, guiding it in until the tip of a slick finger was pressing against Adam’s entrance. Adam let out a sigh that sounded something like relief or satisfaction when Ronan began opening him up on his fingers, like he’d been _waiting_ for this, like Ronan was an asshole for taking so long. But it was a thing worth savoring: Adam tight around Ronan’s fingers, his breath ghosting hot against Ronan’s skin before turning into open-mouthed kisses, his _goddamn hands_ , caressing everywhere they could reach, tracing Ronan’s tattoo.

Adam’s breath faltered around a punched-out sound when Ronan’s fingers brushed against his prostate, and Ronan wanted to tease him there forever, keep coaxing out those noises, Adam fucking himself back on Ronan’s fingers, reveling in Adam’s moaned, “ _Ronan,”_ except Adam was pulling away, rising up on his knees. He was panting when Ronan’s fingers slipped out of him, but then, so was Ronan, both of them caught in the hot burn of pleasure and anticipation. “Thought you wanted—“ Adam started, and Ronan’s mouth curled around a silent _yes_ , and that was enough to make Adam shift up. It was awkward, though, not quite the right angle when Adam wrapped his hand around Ronan’s cock to line him up. Ronan swore and Adam made a sound of impatience before shoving at Ronan for another clumsy rearrangement of limbs and bodies, until Ronan was laid out along the length of the couch. It wasn’t much better, because it was really too narrow for Adam to straddle Ronan, but he did it anyway, and this time when Adam sank down—

Ronan’s breath stuttered as his cock met slick resistance, and it took effort not to just thrust up, because anticipation had given way to raw need. Instead he pressed bruises into Adam’s hips with his fingers, holding himself in check, letting Adam sink down at his own pace, watching Adam’s face as he did it. Adam was so unguarded like this, his brow furrowing with concentration, lips parted, all of him shaking with a fine tremor as he fucked himself down, inch by torturous inch, until he had taken Ronan to the hilt.

Adam gasped out an emphatic, “ _Fuck,_ ” and Ronan bared his teeth in a grin that said he agreed.

“Fucking missed you,” Ronan breathed. It was an attempt to distract himself while Adam adjusted, hot and slick and tight around him and unmoving, and it was an understatement, it was practically a lie because Ronan still fucking missed him, even having him right here like this, because he was going to leave again and—

“Stop thinking,” Adam chided, and maybe he meant Ronan or maybe he meant himself, but it was impossible to think about it anyway because he’d started moving above Ronan, a slow, sinuous rock of hips that made them slide together. It sent sparks up and down Ronan’s spine, made him gasp and tore sounds out of his throat that sometimes took the shape of curses and sometimes took the shape of Adam’s name, and sometimes took no shape at all.

Adam, arched over him, hands planted on Ronan’s chest for stability and leverage and taking pleasure as easily as he was giving it—there was no dream that could capture this. This: Adam’s dusty hair dark with sweat, his skin damp and sticky with it wherever Ronan touched him, his eyes fluttering shut just to snap open again, his _hands_ trailing over Ronan’s skin, fingers tweaking Ronan’s nipples, nails scratching lightly just to dig in when Ronan bent his legs to give Adam a better angle, more leverage. His entire being became _Adam Adam Adam,_ hips snapping up to meet Adam’s, skin and everything under it burning as they moved together, the heat of it pooling low in Ronan’s belly and waiting to catch fire. It wasn’t going to take much, and even though they’d started slow, raw need pushed at them, until Adam was bouncing above Ronan, unreserved and beautiful, sweat making his skin shine, his mouth open with those small sounds that went straight to Ronan’s cock.

Ronan wrapped his hand around Adam’s cock without warning—hot and hard and velvety, the weight of him familiar, the slide-squeeze-twist a motion he’d practiced to get good at, because he wanted Adam to feel _good_. Thumb rubbing over the slick tip of his head, urging Adam faster, hotter, tighter. “ _C’mon_ ,” was more of a suggestion than a command, but it was enough to make Adam topple over the edge, a guttural sound torn from his throat as his hips stuttered and his body tensed, coming hot and slick over Ronan’s hand and stomach. He melted forward until he was bowed over Ronan, panting hot breaths against Ronan’s neck, fingers digging into Ronan’s shoulder and scalp in an attempt to ground himself-- _fuck_ , he was so perfect. Ronan fucked him through it, gripping Adam’s hips and pulling him down to meet his thrusts, until Adam’s raw moans pulled his own orgasm out of him, Adam’s name half-formed in his mouth as he came.

Adam slumped further onto Ronan’s chest, panting and pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach, shuddering a little in Ronan’s arms. Ronan nosed at Adam’s dusty hair, breathing in his scent again, trying to memorize it—sweat and musk and a hint of Adam’s cheap shampoo—hands tracing mindless, languid patterns over Adam’s back. They didn’t move for a few long moments, holding onto each other and the closeness for as long as they could stand it, before the sticky-wetness between them became uncomfortable. Even then, Ronan was reluctant to let Adam pull away, off of him, his cock slipping free with a hiss of breath, because that meant they were no longer connected. Adam didn’t go far, though, just swiped up Ronan’s shirt (because Ronan didn’t care) to wipe weakly at the worst of the mess before settling more comfortably on top of Ronan with a sigh.

Ronan stroked his hands up and down Adam’s back, until a thought occurred to him. He frowned up at Adam. “We forgot a condom.” It was more a statement of fact than anything, less remorse than he probably should have had, because a part of him liked the idea of it—his come inside Adam, keeping him wet, a reminder of what they’d just done. What an idea—

Adam cut his thoughts off with a considering hum, shifting on top of Ronan until he could look at the watch still on his wrist. “S’fine,” he murmured, “we can clean up in the shower.”

Ronan felt his eyebrows creep up. “You sure?” Because there was no doubt that staying naked would lead to more of _this_ , and Adam had...not a lot of time before he had to leave. Ronan pulled Adam’s wrist in front of his face to check how much time; he glared at it blearily and then with more distaste than it really deserved, because it was ticking away the time he had to spend with Adam—but there was still _enough_ time. Maybe.

Adam kicked at Ronan’s legs before propping himself up on Ronan’s chest to look up at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Your pillow talk sucks, Lynch.”

Ronan grunted and leaned in to kiss him. “Guess I should put my mouth to better use, then.” Adam made a noise of agreement and stretched out on top of him, tangling their legs together while they made out, more languid than their earlier kisses, lips sliding together and tongues slipping sweetly to taste each other. There was less urgency now, but it didn’t make it any _less_. Ronan didn’t think kissing Adam could ever be anything short of amazing, anyway, not with the little pleased hums he made, and the press of Adam’s calloused fingers along his jaw as he guided Ronan into a deeper, sweeter kiss. It was too soon for them to get hard again, but that wasn’t the point of it—it was just to _enjoy_ each other.

Their kisses trailed off into snuggling, close and warm, comfortable enough that they could have drifted off to sleep. But they couldn’t afford to sleep right now, so eventually Adam rolled off of Ronan and stood up, reluctance written clear on his features.

They didn’t talk about the fact that there was a time limit on this. Not yet. They could save it for when they couldn’t avoid it, in another hour.

A precious hour, _God_. Ronan hated it as much as he cherished it.

Adam collected his and Ronan’s clothes into a neat, folded pile and clutched them under his arm, except for the soiled shirt, which he tossed at Ronan with a mischievous smile. Ronan caught it and promptly threw it back on the floor to deal with later. Adam raised a judgemental eyebrow; Ronan bared his teeth back just to make Adam laugh, because Adam’s laugh was fucking _music_ , and anyone who said otherwise was wrong. Adam managed to say, “Gross, Lynch,” with a mostly straight face, before leaning in to give Ronan an exasperatedly fond kiss.

The bathroom was upstairs, and Ronan poked at Adam to lead the way just so he could admire Adam’s ass, swatting at it cheerfully on the way up. It wasn’t the same as over summer—not truly carefree—but they’d both had to learn how to live in the moment. It was a stolen bit of happiness, perhaps, but they needed it. _Ronan_ needed it.

Ronan let Adam take charge of the shower. It gave him more time to appreciate the curve of Adam’s ass and the sinuous lines of his back, and he would always take every opportunity to do so. He was pretty sure Adam was aware of it, because he took longer than necessary to adjust the tap before standing up with a muttered, “Crap.” Adam twisted and thrust his bandaged arm between them in silent explanation, and it took effort for Ronan not to flinch back in self-loathing, because _he_ had been the one to hurt Adam. Even if it hadn’t been like that, Ronan still hated it.

Ronan’s mouth twisted, holding back an apology. “I can rebandage it, it’s fine.” Ronan was pretty sure the talon-knife hadn’t cut that deep, and anyway the Barns’ first aid was stocked up at Declan’s insistence. So it was _fine_.

“It’s not your fault, Ronan.” Because of course Adam knew what Ronan was thinking.

Ronan peeled the edge of the bandage up carefully. “I know.” It sounded petulant, probably, but he wasn’t about to fake being happy about slicing up his lover. They were both quiet as Ronan helped Adam remove the bandage. The cuts had stopped bleeding, at least, but they were red and angry and Ronan glared at them, his mouth working.

“Hey.” Adam’s other hand on his jaw dragged Ronan’s attention back to Adam’s face. “It’s no big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“I know,” Ronan said again, and that was enough to shake off the guilt. For now, anyway. “Get in the shower, Parrish.”

Adam’s lips turned up into a small smile. “Wow, rude. At least say, _please_.”

Adam stepped into the shower before Ronan could think of a comeback, so instead Ronan stuck his tongue out and flipped Adam off as he followed suit. “ _Please_ ,” he mocked, crowding Adam against the wall, closing his hands around Adam’s arms.

“Mature.” Adam’s voice was soft despite the remark, and when Ronan leaned in for a kiss, his mouth was eager and welcoming.

“I love you,” was a thing Ronan could murmur to Adam like this, when they were alone, with no other ears listening, because those words were _only for Adam_ to hear. He let his hands slide from Adam’s arms to grip his waist instead, tugging him closer; one of Adam’s hands came up to cup the back of Ronan’s head, holding him steady, pulling him deeper into another kiss, this one slick with tongue, and when they pulled apart again Adam breathed, “ _Tamquam_ —“

“— _alter idem_ ,” was followed by Ronan’s hands trailing even farther down, fingers tracing a path between Adam’s cheeks until he could push one back into Adam, where he was still wet and open. It made Adam’s breath gust out in a beautiful gasp, his hips twitch, and Ronan grinned. They’d been half-hard from kissing, but _this_ was enough to bring them the rest of the way there, cocks nudging together between them, and they’d done this before, too, but it still made Ronan’s breath catch when Adam’s hand reached down to wrap around them both. Adam’s hands on him always made Ronan go a little crazy, and the nudge-squeeze-slide of their cocks together was almost too much, but they’d already come once, so it was easier to languish in the sweet friction of it. Adam moved slow and easy, his hips rocking between Ronan’s fingers in his ass and his hand tight over their cocks, eyelashes fluttering when Ronan leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

Steam from the shower pressed in around them, making it close and intimate, making sweat mingle with the water sluicing down their bodies—Ronan licked it away, smiling when Adam’s head fell back against the shower tile, cheeks flushed. Breathless, just as Ronan was, and Ronan came, just like that, sweet and lazy and hot, Adam’s hand and cock tight against him, a strangled noise in his throat. His fingers slipped free from inside Adam, which was a shame, but it took all his concentration stay on his feet, one hand braced against the wall.

“ _Ronan_ ,” tumbled out of Adam’s mouth while Ronan was still trying to catch his breath, filthy and perfect as his hips jerked against Ronan’s.

“You’re a menace,” was the first thing Adam said once he’d caught his breath, though his voice was helplessly fond. He pressed a tiny, chaste kiss to Ronan’s mouth, one that said _I love you_ without any words, and Ronan tucked it into his memory for later, for one of the long days when he missed Adam (which was every day, really).

They managed to wash up, which was, in fact, the purpose of a shower, though their hands lingered over each other more than was strictly necessary. Or rather, _because_ it was strictly necessary. Adam’s break was ‘soon,’ but not soon enough—not long enough. But they didn’t talk about it.

Not yet. _Not yet_.

Adam’s arm looked no worse for wear from the shower, but Ronan carefully rebandaged it, lips pressed together and mind pointedly focused on other things. And then they were putting clothes back on and Adam looked at his watch again—less than an hour.

Only a handful of precious minutes left.

The sky was a wash of pinks and oranges as Ronan and Adam shuffled towards the door, reluctant. Probably something beautiful to appreciate, but neither of them was really looking at it. Ronan bundled his dream sun into his jacket, and when they stepped outside, Chainsaw flapped down to join them, as eager to spend a few more moments with Adam as Ronan was.

“I’ll walk you down,” Ronan murmured, and earned a smile for it.

Only ten minutes left...time went faster, this time, because Adam was leaving, but there were worse things in the world.


End file.
